(This is a lake town in New Hampshire, so we see a lot of Quebecians in the summer. Usually, they’re a bit standoffish, but polite. This time, not so much.)

Mother: “What’s wrong with your lake?”

Me: “I’m sorry? What do you mean?”

Mother: “Your lake is bad. There’s something nasty in it.”

Me: “Well, I don’t know about that… I myself swim in there fairly often…”

Mother: “Well, your lake has made my son smell like garbage! Your lake must have garbage in it!”

Me: “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s just not true.”

Mother: “You must have built up resistance or something. Here, smell him.” *pushes son towards me*

Me: “Excuse me? I’d rather not smell your son.”

Mother: “So you admit that he smells like garbage from your lake! You people should do something about this.” *takes her groceries and leaves, smiling in a superior fashion*

Coworker: “Did she seriously want you to smell her son?”